


A Medal To His Eyes

by yilloofnarwin



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: A sequel to 'Hunger', Almost a threesome but not, M/M, Vampire!Rafa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yilloofnarwin/pseuds/yilloofnarwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafa's inner creature wants another player as his "prey" and Roger is there to help him corner the chosen one - meanwhile his own relationship with said man jumps to the next level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Medal To His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of sequel to 'Hunger'.

“Have you eaten?” asks Roger.

He is sitting on the bench at his locker in the Wimbledon locker room. Rafa sits with him. They can hear the distant noises of another team a few rows further away.

“It was a long match,” Roger continues when Rafa doesn’t answer. “I bet you are hungry, too.”

Rafa smiles then. “You mean food? Or the different kind… stuff?”

Roger stops in motion, quits putting his left shoe on. “Stuff?” He begins to snicker. “So that is the new name of blood, you cold creature?”

Rafa huffs. His attention is drawn to the voices at the other side of the locker room again. His senses sharpen and he sniffs the air. Then sighs and turns back to Roger who had finally completed dressing.

“So? Food or… stuff?” the older man asks, giggling.

Rafa snorts, shaking his head, amused. “Food for you. Stuff for me later. I can wait. Is no urgent.”

“Uhum. You seem too calm for my liking!” Roger takes a long look at his partner, suspiciously measuring him, searching for signs.

Rafa stares at him, his eyes opened widely for Roger to see there is nothing to worry about at the moment. When the older man’s eyes sink to Rafa’s lips, he bares his teeth to be on display. Nothing is out of human order.

“See? I am fine now. Is no 24 hour ago when I last eat so I am good,” he is trying to convince Roger. “Besides I already know who it will be. It give me the calm.”

Roger frowns. “You know it and you are still relaxed?”

“Sí,” Rafa reassures him. “I no in a hurry today.”

“That’s good! Great!” Roger slumps back from his alerted position. “Are we going to get dinner then?”

Rafa smiles and nods and soon they are walking through the locker room, carrying Roger’s bags, and chatting animatedly about the semi-final of the London Olympic Games between Roger and Juan Martin Del Potro. Roger has just won his place in the Olympic final by defeating the Argentinian player in an epic clash.

They walk beside Juan Martin’s gang and there are handshakes again and saying ‘see you laters’, until Rafa’s eyes meet Juan Martin’s and they stare at each other for quite a while. Rafa looks his normal self. The _human_ normal self, thinks Roger quickly. But there is something very piercing in the Argentinian man’s look, something that he, Roger, cannot wrap his mind around. It’s a distinct one, the message that Juan Martin sends to Rafa – Roger can clearly separate it from any other exchange he had ever seen between these two.

They leave the room but Roger looks back for a second and he sees Juan Martin still standing there at the same spot, not moving, not even blinking, staring at Rafa’s back, following his form even behind the glass doors, on the corridor outside.

Then it hits Roger. He jogs after Rafa, catching his arm. “It’s him!”

Rafa’s lopsided smile and the barely noticable tilt of his head confirm it.

“No, no, absolutely not! You won’t bite Delpo!”

Rafa can’t decide what he sees in Roger’s eyes is horror or a surge of jealousy. He settles down on mentioning the latter first; they can always delve into the other issue later.

“You jealous of him or me?” he asks softly.

Roger stops walking now and makes Rafa do the same. “I don’t even know what you mean,” he admits.

Rafa shrugs. “You jealous because I be with Juan Martin and not you, or because you like him?” he explains.

Roger is conflicted – he doesn’t know. “I’m just… We should tell him then. I mean, obviously he would know about you. Well, yeah…  So far you have managed to keep it a secret, avoiding the players, except that one time with Lopez.”

“Is this really the reason, Rogelio?” Rafa asks, blunt as ever when it’s about his vampireness. “Is not that you no want me touch him?”

Roger leans on the wall beside them. He doesn’t feel all right. He doesn’t feel up to discuss this right now. He should have days of thinking, analyzing such a problem, list all the pros and cons, keeping in mind Rafa’s needs as well as Del Potro’s well-being. His own would come only later. That is how Roger rolls. But they don’t have days; it is in the present, it is now. Worse, it is actually past for Rafa, as he has already chosen his match.

Rafa stands there, silently looking at Roger, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything. No words come for another long minute. Rafa gives up.

“Roger…” he begins gently, stepping close, taking the other man’s jaw in his palm. “You can do nothing, no? It is how it is. I will have him, no matter what you want, no?” he says confidently, but that sadness is detectable again in his voice. He has as small a choice as Roger does. “You understand, sí?”

Roger averts his eyes, staring at the floor stubbornly. His voice is weak. “Yes.”

“Good,” Rafa nods.

“But…”

“No but, Rogelio!” commands the younger one. “Juan Martin it is. And you help me. Come!” He takes Roger’s hand and leads him out of the club, the debate closed on his side.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Roger is standing in front of the hotel room of certain Juan Martin Del Potro. He hesitates, arguments still racing through his mind, despite of knowing he cannot change a thing now. He sucks a few deep breaths in, trying to get his speeding heartbeat back at a somewhat normal rhythm. When he knocks at long last and waits for the door to open, he calms down. There is nothing he can do to avoid this.

Steps coming closer and closer and Juan Martin’s widened eyes look back at him soon. He is disheveled, probably having tried to get some sleep as soon as he could have hit bed.

“Roger!” he exclaims, his voice dripping with surprise.

“Hello!” Roger says, sheepishly, not as confident as he willed himself to act. “Are you alone?”

“Sí,” replies the other, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry… Didn’t want to disturb you… Can I come in?”

Juan nods, lets Roger walk past him, and closes the door behind them. Then stays there, clearly indicating that he believes Roger came only for a minute or two, to say something, maybe about their planned match in December, and that he will be gone very soon.

“Uhm… can we sit? I need to talk to you,” arrives the request that only deepens the Argentinian’s confusion.

However he nods again, leading Roger inside his living room area, and asking him whether he wants a drink, perhaps. Roger shakes his head. He very much wants a drink, very strong one, too, but he has to keep his braincells working perfectly.

Juan sits after his guest has got comfortable, and looks at Roger, expectantly.

Roger doesn’t have a better idea of how to begin this than he had half an hour ago.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, knowing he is stalling.

Juan Martin smiles shyly. “Roger, you don’t have to come here and ask me that! It was a match, you won, I lost. It’s okay. I am fine. Thank you!”

Roger is watching him, examining him, taking in the low murmur of his voice and the calm demeanor. He is such a contrast to Rafa. He speaks the same Spanish, he comes from a country that has the same passion, yet, Juan Martin doesn’t talk fast, doesn’t use wild gestures and facial expressions, and is capable of sitting straight for longer than two minutes.

Roger smiles back. “That’s good to hear but…”

“And you?” Juan interrupts him. “How are you?”

“Oh. Tired,” says Roger and laughs out loud. “This is not what I want to discuss but you have played brilliantly and I am really sorry that one of us had to lose today! If we are at it, and please, don’t take it in a wrong way… I would like you to take the bronze medal!”

The younger man doesn’t take it in a wrong way. “Thank you! I already told you I would like you to have the gold.”

“Yes. At the net,” nods Roger.

“Why are you here?” comes the question then. “This tension kills me, Roger!”

Roger leans back in his armchair and sighs deeply. He thinks it’s now or never. And never is not an option anyway.

“There is something I have to tell you and ask for your promise that whatever you hear in this room now, you never pass it on to anybody else. I have to request this before you would know what I’m going to talk about!”

Juan Martin simply nods. If Roger Federer comes here and tells him it’s private, then it’s private, regardless of the topic.

“It is about… Rafa,” presses Roger out finally.

Juan stays completely still, he seems not even to be breathing. Roger, realizing he has the full attention of the younger man, continues, and the words begin to flow, he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted. He tells everything that is necessary to know, trying to keep it as short as he can, knowing Rafa must be anxiously waiting for them by now.

The Argentinian is listening carefully, drinking his words up, not cutting Roger off by asking anything, despite of the growing amount of questions that are forming in his mind. His admiration for Roger is increasing proportionally to the knowledge that is being shared with him about Rafa, his state, about Roger, and the things he does for Rafa, or the devotion that he does them with.

Roger is done, sitting back again, sighing, feeling somewhat happy about its being over, but worried for Juan Martin, and the consequences this can bring onto all of them.

Weirdly, the other man is just looking at him, seemingly relaxed and when he speaks up at the end, he has the oddest question Roger felt he could come up with in such a situation. “Does he play so good tennis because of his unusual strength?”

Roger stares. And suddenly he bursts out laughing, his body shaking for minutes before he can compose himself and wipe off the small tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Sorry,” he apologizes then. “No, the creature in him is controlled. Rafa is just another guy when he is more human. Losing it only when he is hungry, usually once a day, sometimes less. I can reassure you, you play tennis against Rafael Nadal, the annoying kid from Mallorca, not a vampire!”

Juan Martin accepts this answer and believes it. “Too bad!” he says, disappointed.

“I know. At least we could have some excuses for losing to him,” agrees Roger.

He is scanning the Argentinian’s face and posture and expects more questions now, wishing he would ask them as soon as possible because they are running out of time. He wants to urge the other man but Juan is the first to talk.

“What happens if I don’t want it?” he asks.

“The same. He will have you against your wish,” replies Roger very strictly. “But… Rafa would like you to come willingly. That is why I am here and letting you get a glimpse of what’s coming.”

“Why didn’t he come here then?”

“Because he… eh, he would get into a… state… you see.” Roger loses control of the conversation the first time since he has arrived. He wants to explain it further but Juan Martin nods and says he understands.

“I am willing,” he announces. “I would be either way, I think. I mean, willing to help Rafa. And help you.”

The gratitude he sees in Roger’s eyes has already been worth it. “What exactly will happen? Can I get killed?” he asks on, suspiciously self-possessed. The reality of this will probably hit him later.

“It’s a possibility. I wouldn’t lie about that. But a string of very unfortunate things should occur for that to happen and for Rafa to loose that much of control. He never had to take anybody’s life. He will bite your neck and drink of your blood. That’s basically it. He will also heal you after.”

“Is that all?”

Roger starts to fidget in the chair and Juan Martin thinks how rare it is to see the World No.1 act like this.

“He might, just might, get carried away a bit… in a sexual manner. Feeding causes pleasure, although Rafa is adamant about not having sex with anybody he bites but me. Sometimes he can’t keep himself to that. That is why I am going to be there.”

It is the first time Roger notices some worry flickering in Juan Martin’s eyes. “You… you will… will you… witness all that?”

Roger nods. “Listen, I need to be there most of the times to jump in if Rafa wants to do something he wouldn’t do with completely conscious mind. If he is about to sexually assault the prey, I am the only one to stop him. He is usually in need of sex, as well, either during or after the… meal.”

“Prey,” whispers Juan Martin who is breathing slightly bit harder now. Not because he is afraid of the vampire’s bite.

“That’s just a word,” says Roger and comes to sit beside the other man in the loveseat, putting his hand tenderly on Juan’s arm. “I will be there to look after you.”

“I don’t guarantee to stay calm if you are there and do… stuff,” the Argentinian mumbles.

Roger laughs. “You younglings using ‘stuff’ to describe everything is really irksome,” he admits.

“I am not supposed to see you in such situations!” Juan Martin raises his voice.

Roger watches his heated face for a while before he speaks, softly. “It is usually not feasible any other way. I am sorry! But it’s no problem to me, no problem to Rafa. It’s not so much different from using the same locker room,” he shrugs.

“It is different for me to see _you_ like that,” mutters Juan, looking defeated now.

“Oh!” Finally Roger sees the light, the emphasis on ‘you’ making him understand. He stares at his fellow player and Juan Martin thinks he doesn’t seem upset.

“You never knew?” he asks, not keeping it a secret anymore. It’s out in the spotlight now, what good it would do to play it off nonchalantly?

“I am usually oblivious of everyone but Rafa. You could say I am dense,” chuckles Roger. “And you never acted on it.”

“How could I? And I was smart not to, knowing now that Rafa would have shredded me into pieces, being a vampire and all,” says the younger man, resigned.

Roger bumps his shoulder into Juan Martin’s. “Hey! I do like you, too,” he says. “I care about you. Much. I have always liked you. Except maybe during that two months when I had to get over the loss of that US Open final. Then I didn’t like you at all. You probably understand,” he snickers.

A tiny sigh escapes Juan Martin’s lips and with it comes a shaky little laugh. “I knew it. I avoided you after that. But that was fierce, man, I was so proud of that win, and even more proud that I could force you to feel such deep emotions. I have that match taped and your convo with the umpire… I saw that uncountable times.”

Roger listens to him fascinatedly; getting to know about what had happened there years ago on the court of Arthur Ashe stadium, from the other player’s point of view, is exciting, especially in light of knowing the true feelings of said player. Which reminds him…

“Look, we definitely need to talk more about this, but later! Now let me offer you something! We go and meet Rafa, and see how it goes. Who knows, maybe he is in his generous state and we can have more fun than you could think of!”

Juan Martin yanks his head up to look Roger in the eye. “What?”

“Well, is it enough for you if I tell that Rafa always knew I liked you? He was accusing me of being jealous just today, when he announced you would be his matching one. We will see what’s going to happen! But now, please, can you put your hesitation aside and trust me completely, just this once?”

The pleading tone does it for Juan Martin and he nods. “Sí. I trust you.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

This time it is Juan Martin who rocks on the balls of his feet at the door of Rafa and Roger’s suite. He is the same nervous as Roger was some time ago at his door. The difference is that he has someone to rely on, he has Roger with him, soothing him.

Roger smiles reassuringly and asks him to stay in the living room while he goes and finds Rafa. But he is too late, Rafa already knows they have arrived; he has come to meet them, looking pretty impatient, leaning on the doorframe of the bedroom.

“What took so long?” he spits out.

Roger comes closer to him, almost smelling Rafa’s distress. He throws a warming look over his shoulder to Juan Martin then turns to Rafa again.

“Mind your tone, you don’t want to scare Juan off!” he warns.

Rafa snorts. “He is no afraid. Is curious,” he states as if reading the Argentinian’s mind and sensing his mood was the most natural thing to do. “I wait so much,” he complains, not taking his eyes off of Juan Martin anymore. “You come willingly.” It’s not a question. Rafa knows. He gestures for the youngest man to follow him to the bed.

Only when he reaches the furniture does Juan Martin see that Rafa’s eyes are shiny in the dim light of the room. They are… silver? He is taking in the sight. Rafa looks very different from his usual warm, brown-eyed self. His face also seems so much of a lighter shade; the tan by the Mallorcan sun is gone.

He is in awe and Rafa feels that. He grins at Juan now to show his fangs off.

The younger man steps near him, so suddenly that they hear Roger hiss from the distance.

“Approach slowly!” Roger asks and watches Juan Martin slowly go close enough to kiss Rafa. He is staring into the vampire’s eyes, then bends his head to take an examining look at the fangs.

They are pointy, of course they are, what kind of fucked up vampire would Rafa be if they weren’t? But they are tiny – that surprises him. He retreats a bit and waits.

“Is this OK?” Rafa asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

“Sí,” nods Juan Martin. “It is beautiful.”

“Gracias!” smiles Rafa and he feels proud.

Juan Martin thinks he has just seen the human Rafa coming out in him for a mere second.

“I know this will work. You are so spiritual being,” explains Rafa. He takes the other man’s hand and asks him to sit. “I sorry in advance if I do something stupid! Roger is here to help if it get out of hand.”

Juan Martin accepts it, he knows. He is ready.

“I will,” they hear Roger from the door. “I warn you, Raf, in case you get violent, I am stepping between you two and you will have to hurt me, instead of Juan Martin! That is the deal! And I’m glad to see you take a nice tone with our guest!”

Rafa huffs. Why can’t Roger just leave him alone now? Doesn’t he see he is occupied otherwise, not up to listen to lecturing? Isn’t it obvious Rafa is busy with smoothing his palm up and down on Juan Martin’s neck, touching the carotid artery, feeling the pulse accelerate?

“You stop talking, Roger, and come here. Be useful, no?” he demands and never stopping the caress, goes on, this time directing his words at Juan. “I am holding back because I want it be nice to you. Thanking you for come on your own will. This no bother me other times, with other people, but it is painful without good preparation. The best is when we have sex. Then your senses are overload, pleasure high, hormones high, oxytocin relax the body much…”

“How do you know that word?” cuts in Juan Martin and seems a bit frightened suddenly, thinking, it is not very smart to interrupt a vampire.

He doesn’t have to worry, Rafa is smiling. “I just get cleverer when the creature in me take over,” he says.

Juan nods but then a giggling snort comes from behind, a puff of breath hitting his nape, making him shudder, and a low voice says, ”Don’t believe him, that’s not true!”

When did Roger climb on the bed to get behind him? Is he this much magicked already, not to notice the older man?

Rafa flashes an angry grin at Roger but lets him get away with it and continues. “I will not do that to you. I know I could and you would be OK with it. That is only the charm of the vampire because you never fancy me like that, no?”

“I dunno…” mumbles Juan Martin, having serious doubts about that as he feels his cock harden in his pants. Whether it is because of Roger’s proximity, or Rafa’s, he doesn’t know anymore.

Rafa chuckles, seeing Roger getting comfortable sitting on his heels. Their eyes connect for a moment and Roger nods. Rafa pushes Juan into his arms then and the youngest goes without resistance.

“Roger will touch you for me,” says Rafa. “I no think you protest, sí? I sense your…”

“Mutual,” adds Roger when he sees Rafa is searching for the word in English.

“Sí, mutual desire.”

The Argentinian can’t suppress a moan bursting out. Roger chooses that moment to pull his head back and kiss him from a weird angle, not any the less enjoyable. There is no tongue at first because Juan Martin, despite the haze he is in, or because of it, is too taken aback to let Roger in.

“Open up for me!” asks Roger, care obvious in his tone.

Juan Martin does, going with the flow, losing himself in the sensations of their tongues meeting, his mind screaming joyfully as he finally has the kiss he was dreaming about for so long. He never notices that Rafa is undressing him, taking his shoes and socks off, then pulling the trackpants and boxers off, too. Having finished, he leans forward and combs his fingers in Roger’s hair, tearing him away from Juan’s lips.

“Shirt,” he says. “Off!”

He pulls Juan Martin into sitting position and Roger helps him get rid of the t-shirt.

“Undress!” barks Rafa at Roger next, and the older man obeys, dropping his clothes at lightning speed.

They are back to the previous position, Roger holding Juan Martin in his arms, the younger one’s back to his chest. Rafa is climbing over the Argentinian now and nuzzling his neck, sticking his tongue out to lick him, when Roger’s extended arm stops him.

“Not yet,” he says, and the vampire gives him a pissy glare, but pulls back.

Roger’s eyes travel to Juan Martin’s groin then, taking in the sight of the hard cock lying on his lower belly. Rafa’s look follows his and when Roger asks “Can I?”, he gets permission in the form of two simultanous ‘Sí!’, uttered by both Juan and Rafa. Roger chuckles and wraps his hands around the erection, forcing Juan’s back strain into an arch by the first pumping motion.

Juan Martin groans, dropping his head back on Roger’s shoulder. He wants to turn and see Roger, see his body like this, touch it how Roger is touching him, discover more of it, get to know Roger more intimately. At the same time, he doesn’t want to move. He could stay here for the rest of his life, being caressed by Roger and watched by Rafa. He also doesn’t want to lose sight of the vampire looming over him, looking so mesmerizing, shaking his shirt off now, revealing slightly illuminated skin.

Roger cups his balls now, rolling them between fingers, and Juan Martin can’t help it, he begins to lift his hips rhythmically, thrusting into Roger’s fist.

Rafa leans over him then and, beside Juan’s head, he kisses Roger while his left hand sinks in his hair, and his right slides again to Juan’s neck.

The youngest utters a loud moan and Rafa and Roger echo it in complete sync. He is so close, it’s so good, having Roger squeezing him! He never wants it to stop.

Roger pushes Rafa back once more and says, “Watch!” And he is licking Juan Martin’s neck now, up and down, then his teeth nip at the vein.

The animalistic growl that breaks up from Rafa is scary, Juan thinks hazily – he is too far gone to be frightened off now.

Rafa is back at his neck, sniffing him, licking, finding the perfect point to bite at, while Roger never stops pumping his cock and whispering in his ear.

“You might faint… Don’t worry about that!... I’ve got you… Let go!”

At that moment he does. His orgasm is ripping through his cock, then his whole body, and as if he was behind a curtain of fog, he feels something pushed deeply inside his neck, a hand still jerking him, now more gently, until he doesn’t have a drop of come left in him. The sucking motion and sound pierce his mind for a second but after that there is only darkness.

Roger eases the unconscious body slowly down on the bed and watches Rafa still feeding on his blood, never bothered by the tiny moves. Roger smiles, Rafa moans. The blood must be exquisite.

Time stretches and Roger begins to worry a bit. Shouldn’t Rafa stop now?

Before he could properly think it through, Rafa’s eyes pop open and he pulls back, leaving two wee, slightly bleeding spots in Juan’s skin. Rafa runs his tongue over his fangs and lips, then gathers the blood from the neck with his thumb and sucks it off, eyes searching Roger’s.

“Want?” he asks, smiling around his finger.

Roger giggles. “No, thanks!”

Rafa drops his hand down. “Thought so. You still have to taste it.” He climbs close to Roger. “Kiss me!” he commands.

Roger makes a face but it’s not the time and place to argue. They kiss, Rafa hisses when Roger’s tongue touches his retreating fangs. Coming up for air, they have already pulled back and Rafa’s eyes carry only a hint of red. The silver is gone.

“That was one fast changing back,” says Roger. “His blood must be very satisfying.”

Rafa nods, leaving Roger, leaning over Juan Martin again, to heal his wounds. The man stirs under the touch but doesn’t wake. Rafa gestures for Roger to help him and together they put the Argentinian under the blankets. Then they take the other side of the bed, cuddled up, sharing tender kisses and caresses. Roger palms Rafa’s cock that is still trapped inside his pants, rock hard, straining against the material. He slips his hand in, taking Rafa in it, slowly jerking him.

“You need the other kind of satisfaction now,” he whispers and turning Rafa onto his back, his mouth wanders lower and lower to reach his cock and swallow it…

Twenty minutes, or an hour, or days later – he has no idea – Juan Martin wakes up to passionate noises filling his ears and the view of Rafa and Roger making love right beside him.

Roger has Rafa lying on his back and his legs up on Roger’s shoulders. He, Roger, is clearly the dominant one in this situation and Juan Martin wonders if that is true to every encounter they have in Rafa’s human state. It amazes him, he knows he probably gapes at them, arousal sweeping through him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t want to interrupt them at all, but then Rafa looks straight at him and stares. The legs slip off Roger’s shoulders and Rafa’s body stills suddenly, only his cock pulses in Roger’s hand, spurting come onto Rafa’s torso. His inner contractions must squeeze Roger’s cock because his face turns into a pained expression and soon into a blissed out one. His orgasm shakes him, stretched moans accompanying it, almost matching the ones of Rafa who hasn’t come off his high yet.

Roger slumps forward then, covering Rafa with his body, his cock slipping out of him. He lifts his head, eyes closed, trying to kiss Rafa blindly. He only gets his saliva on Rafa’s jaw and Rafa giggles, synchronized with Juan Martin.

Roger notices the youngest one being awake and he has the decency to blush. Rolling off Rafa, landing in between the other two, he reaches to cover himself with the abandoned blanket. Rafa is laughing, not bothered at all. It’s a weird feeling but he is at peace with the situation for now.

“Are you OK?” he asks Juan Martin.

The man turns a bit inside, examining his feelings, then nods.

Rafa extends an arm over Roger and touches Juan’s neck, taking a thorough look at it. “Is good. Nice. You no have pain?”

Juan Martin shakes his head. Rafa is pleased. “I think you two have things to talk about, no?” he says. “I go take shower.” Then he captures Juan’s eyes with his once again, giving him a piercing stare, then says, “Muchas gracias!”

He’s gone when Juan Martin still stares at the bathroom door, thinking that again he has just seen a tiny flash of non-human silver in Rafa’s eyes.

“I am supposed to leave now, sí?” he asks then.

Roger doesn’t say yes. He says, “This is a bit… embarrassing now.”

Juan Martin shrugs. “I am fine. Really.”

“You sure?” smiles Roger at him tentatively.

“I just don’t know how much of this was for me. From you, you know,” he admits.

The older man sighs. “It was as much for you as for Rafa. I enjoyed it and who knows, maybe we can repeat it one day. I don’t know. You can’t get pissy at Rafa if he gets jealous. He seemed relaxed about it now, but he has quite a temper. In his post-feeding and orgasmic bliss we cannot tell, you know. If you want to hear me to say it again, I like you, I find you so attractive and… very… sensual… and… tall…” Roger says and they both smile.

“I will keep that in mind next time I play you!” says Juan Martin, feeling a bit shy under Roger’s gaze and praises, even though telling him he is tall is a pretty unusual form of it, he thinks.

Roger reaches out and slides his fingers through the younger man’s stubble. Juan leans into the touch and closes his eyes.

“I never got to touch you,” he whispers.

“Maybe next time,” says Roger and rubs their noses together and pecks Juan Martin’s lips. “Go and rest now, we had an intense day!”

The Argentinian is nowhere to be seen by the time Rafa comes out of the bathroom.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

In two days’ time it seems more like a dream to Juan Martin. But then Roger walks in the room where the medallists meet before the ceremony. Seeing the Argentinian there he comes to a halt and says, “It’s you! It’s you!”, smiling broadly, not far off jumping in excitement.

They come together and share the usual friendly embrace but linger a tiny bit longer than necessary.

“You are still tall,” Roger winks at him after and holds out his hand. “Congrats for the bronze!” he adds and Juan Martin clasps his huge palm around his, shaking it, but more like a loving squeeze. He thinks ‘You are tall’ is quickly becoming equal to ‘I like you’ in his own interpretation.

“To you, too,” he says then, a bit uncertain.

Roger shrugs. “Yeah, silver for me. It’s no problem, I choose to be pleased!” he explains.

Juan Martin really admires him for this.

The handlers are coming to fetch them and they are being led out to the centre court. They have some little problems with walking in the right order, and Juan Martin uses the occasion to come behind Roger for a moment and murmur, “Silver medal matches Rafa’s eyes.”

Roger turns, looks up at him, and laughs. How very true.

They stand on the Olympic podium, joyous and proud, sharing the same thrill, appreciation and memories.

Rafa is there in Roger’s box and grins widely at them.

Later outsiders will say, the silver and bronze medallists looked happier than the one man with Gold.

~ The End ~


End file.
